


Unfrayed

by likethedirection



Series: Unfrayed [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Divergence - Torn and Frayed, Depression, Friendship, Gen, POV Dean Winchester, Season/Series 08, questioning of morals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 13:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4182450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming back from the dead is complicated, and Dean would know.  In related news, Benny seriously has the worst truck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unfrayed

**Author's Note:**

> Companion to Torn in Three, but should still make sense if you haven’t read that. One line of dialogue was blatantly ripped and repurposed from S8E19 “Taxi Driver,” because there are certain parts of canon that I simply do not accept. :)

Benny seriously had the worst truck.

“You seriously have the worst truck,” Dean said into the oil filter, elbow-deep in grease, dirt, and God knew what else was probably living in that engine.  “I’m gonna have nightmares.”

“No one’s making you fix it,” Benny said somewhere off to the side.  “Ain’t like I got much place to go.”

“Dude, these cables are so shot.  This thing should not be in one piece.  You didn’t make a deal with anyone handsy, did you?”

“Phone just buzzed again,” Benny said evenly, ignoring him.  “Or we still not talking about that?”

“Nope.  Okay, this engine smells like death.”

“Looks like another text message.”

“If I find a dead rat in this thing, that’s all you, man.  I don’t need that crap.”

“Good thing they didn’t have rodents in Purgatory.  Wouldn’t want you to get the vapors, now.”

“Shut up.”

Benny did, and there was nothing for a little bit except B.B. King through the radio static (there weren’t many stations out here, but Benny liked his blues, and Dean could let him have that much) and the crinkle of another blood bag from the cooler Dean had brought, and he stuck his head further under the hood, brushing away dead leaves.  That was Benny’s fifth bag.  He’d been spacing them out, but from the second he’d opened the door, Dean had seen the hunger in his face.  Desperate hunger, _my body is screaming that I’m killing it_ hunger.  He remembered that hunger.  He wished he didn’t.

Dean almost hadn’t come.  He didn’t want to think about that, either.

“So, assuming I can get this deathtrap running,” he said, checking the oil, “what’s your plan?  You putting down roots?”

Benny was quiet a moment.  “Last try didn’t go so well.”  Dean grimaced before straightening up to wipe off the dipstick.  Benny was where he’d left him, leaning against the deck in the shade with his cooler, looking older than he remembered.  “I’m not joining up with any nest,” he explained, sipping idly on the blood bag.  “Can’t be around too many humans unless I can keep a full stock.”  He nudged the cooler with his foot.  “And no offense, but I ain’t had too much luck with hunters so far.”

Dean sighed, leaning back against the truck after replacing the stick, wiping his hands.  “Yeah, I hear you.”

Benny nodded toward the truck.  “Figure out what’s wrong with it?”

“Literally everything.”

Benny rolled his eyes, and Dean pushed off the truck to close the hood.  “Most of it’s just that some cold-hearted undead bastard’s been neglecting her,” he said with half a glare in Benny’s direction.  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Not so sure it’d be worth your while,” Benny said, shrugging.  “I done what I could, but mostly ended up muckin’ it up worse.  Might be that thing ain’t meant to be fixed.”

He sounded casually resigned, weary, and something lurched in Dean’s chest.  “Hey,” he said, probably louder than he needed to, but it got him eye contact.  He silently reminded himself that they were talking about a truck.  “First off, she ain’t a _thing_.  She’s seen some action, but she ain’t crapped out until now, right?”  Benny lifted an eyebrow at him, but didn’t argue.  Dean left the truck with a pat and went to him.  “I’ll need supplies.  Saw a place a couple towns back when I stopped to fill up, should have most of it.  We’ll get her sorted out under the hood, slap on a fresh coat of paint, and I guarantee you she’ll get you wherever you want to go.”

The corner of Benny’s mouth quirked up.  “That a fact.”

“Damn straight.”

“Could take a while.”

“I got time.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ll make time.”

Benny considered him for a short stretch, and Dean looked back and let him, because he meant it - could finally say it and mean it, finally do right by _someone_ \- and Benny should know that.  He seemed to see it well enough, giving Dean a little shake of the head that reminded him of conversations about vampirates, his mouth curving up a little more.  Fond, like he was glad Dean was here, no matter how many things Dean had screwed up for him.

And Dean couldn't quite handle that right this second, so he cleared his throat and jutted his chin toward the door.  "Let me wash this crud off, then we can swing by the shop, see about those parts.  Then see about the diner down the street.”  He glanced up.  “If you’re still good for that coffee.”

Benny huffed an exhale and smiled for real this time, so tired and grateful that Dean could barely look at it, and just clapped Dean on the shoulder and squeezed as he passed by.  Dean patted his wrist in reply and headed inside to wash up, grabbing his phone on the way.

“Inside” was a half-rotted old house where Benny had apparently been squatting for the last week or so after his truck crapped out, and Dean still couldn’t get over how Benny _found_ these weird-ass places, from the abandoned caves in Purgatory that reeked of dragon to places like this, creaking and forgotten.  Benny was a powerful guy, but damn if he didn’t know how to disappear if it meant surviving.  A week, and the place looked untouched, dust layered on the surfaces and the few stray pieces of furniture left mostly alone, the space around them undisturbed.  An empty cooler shoved off to the side in the living room, a few footprints in the dust, but otherwise nothing to suggest anyone had been here.  

Sam had always been like that, too, keeping all the little parts of his life packed up and tucked away, not settling, always ready to move again.  He’d never stopped rolling his eyes at Dean for sprawling across whatever hole in the wall they’d manage to find, for helping himself to the honor bars and dresser drawers and Magic Fingers whenever he got them, for making himself at home even if they’d only be there a little while.

_This isn’t home,_ Sam had said once, teenage and petulant and probably in the middle of the dark, dark time that had been his Savage Garden phase.   _Why do you keep acting like it is?_

_Because it’s what we’ve got._

He finished washing his hands and carefully avoided the mirror while he dried, instead pulling the phone back out of his pocket.

_Sammy, this is it, right now.  This is how we do it.  You, me, and Dad._

One missed call, last night.  Two texts, one later last night and one ten minutes ago.  In the dim hall, with no one looking, he gave himself a second to sag against the wall, rubbing a hand over his face.  Pulling it together.

_So I’m gonna make this home, while we’re here.  The car’s home when we’re driving, and the next place is home when we get there.  That’s how I’ve got to do it._

_Because if we don’t make it home wherever we are, then we’re never going to have one._

Not an emergency or anything.  Sam would have called.  Twice, in quick succession, like they always had done it when something mattered more than their bullshit.  He was fine.  Hell, he was probably striking gold by now.  A home that stayed in one place, because maybe home had always been a place to Sam, after all.  Home was a place Sam had spent his life running toward, and Dean was...everywhere else.

He’d stop feeling bad about everywhere else quick enough, if Dean just didn’t answer the phone.

A knock on the wall nearly made him jump out of his skin, the hallway abruptly and jarringly _there_ again with the addition of Benny hovering a few feet away, eyeing him like he’d been standing there a minute.  Dean blinked and lowered his phone, dimly realizing he’d been pressing it into his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut.

Mercifully, Benny didn’t ask the obvious thing, instead motioning toward the steps.  “Good to go?”

“Yeah.”  Dean swallowed, cleared the hoarseness from his throat, pushed away from the wall.  Shoved his phone into his jacket pocket.  “Yeah.”

Benny gave him space to shake it off as they headed back down to the car, just briefly catching Dean’s eye and tapping on his own forehead.  “You got a dent, bud.  Townsfolk’ll think I’m beatin’ you.”

Dean rolled his eyes and rubbed the phone-mark out of his forehead, dropping into the driver’s seat while Benny slid in shotgun and blinked at all of his leg room.  Which Dean was going to say something about, right now.

Or now.  Or.

He cleared his throat.  “You, uh.”   _You can move the seat up_ , he finished in his head.   _No one using it but you._

Benny, thank God for him, just gave an unconcerned shake of his head, stretched out his legs, and buckled himself in.

_Every time you come back,_ Sam started in his memory, and Dean blinked it away and flipped on the radio.

They drove.

-

The first time Dean had come back, he’d been fifteen years old and had been dead for nearly two minutes.  A kraken, not a giant-ass Cthulu beastie like in the movies, but still a few times his size, had been a lot more interested in him than in the bait.

He didn't remember much after it dragged him under and bashed him on the lake bottom, but between one blink and the next, he was lying on the shore coughing up half the lake, his chest throbbing from the ribs Dad had broken with the CPR.  Dad had held him steady, as soaked and shaky as he was, his orders hushed.  

_Take it easy, son.  Easy.  Keep coughing, you're doing good.  I know it hurts.  Just push through it.  That's it._

Later, piled under every blanket in the motel room and muzzily annoyed that the tip of his nose was still cold, he'd listened to Sam arguing with Dad about taking him to a hospital.  He'd been too foggy to intervene like he wanted to, or really to do anything but mumble that he was fine, and then Dad had checked on him one more time and gone to tie up the case before the cops started snooping around, and Sam was sitting down by him on the bed and taking a breath and whispering,

_You know that if he had to do CPR that long, it means your heart stopped, right?_

He hadn't had the energy or brainpower to deal with that right then, so he'd just rattled back,

_Yeah._

Less steadily:

_Don't die anymore, okay?_

He'd somehow wormed a hand out of his cocoon to pat Sam's arm, or at least try to; it was more of a rag-doll swat, but it worked, even as his body decided being awake was too much effort.

_Okay._

-

The inside of Dean’s head sounded like a load of crap at the moment, so he kept AC/DC on as loud as Benny’s vamp-ears could take and he sang along under his breath, drumming on the steering wheel at stop lights.  Benny let him do his thing, looking as relaxed as he ever had, staying preternaturally still the way you do when breathing doesn’t have to be a thing.  He stayed quiet over there until _Rock in Peace_ ended and _Ride On_ began, slowing things down nice and bluesy, which had him sitting back and nodding along before lowering his eyes.

“If we’re talkin’ truth, Dean, I don’t know what comes next,” he said, sounding more relaxed than before but still looking gray.  “You’d think, fifty years to work this out, I’d’ve had ten, twenty backup plans queued up for when I got topside.  But that just ain’t how it is.  Nest is taken care of, family got damn near butchered on my account.  Home’s off limits.  Gettin’ hard to see what’s left after all that.”

Dean frowned.  “Home’s wherever you make it.”  He bit his tongue before the _Sammy_ could tag itself on the end.  “Old one’s gone, you make a new one.  You get on a ship full of vampirates, you shack up with someone who matters, you take over Purgatory, you carve out a space on your own terms.  You know how to do this, man.”

Benny sighed quietly.  “I do.  But that doesn’t mean it’s gettin’ any easier, brother.”

Keeping his eyes on the road, Dean grunted, “Never does.”

-

The next couple of times he’d come back, he hadn’t really left.  Not technically.  But he’d been about to.  And he’d been weirdly okay with it.

He didn’t want to die.  Not technically.  But he’d thought, after the doc had told him what those hundred thousand volts had done to his heart muscle, that going out saving his brother and two little kids wasn’t the worst he could do.  And later he’d thought, as he stared down the beautiful reaper telling him _The fight is over for you_ , that maybe being done fighting - just being _done_ \- wasn’t the worst thing, either.

But he came back.  And he came back.  It was never his idea.

Habits start that way.  Dad started drinking to make the nightmares stop.  Sam started on the demon blood because, God freaking knew why, he thought it was the right thing.  And Dean started coming back from the dead because that’s what his family needed him to do.

Not staying dead.  Jesus.  Some people bite their nails, and that’s their bad habit.  Some people, like...tailgate.  Dean comes back from the dead, and he picks up where he left off.  Give or take.

It’s a surprisingly hard habit to break.

-

Eventually, the conversation came around to Elizabeth.  When Dean asked if Benny had had any more contact, Benny shook his head.

“Nah,” he said.  “It’s like you said.  If being in her life means putting her in danger, I’m not gonna do it.”  He shook his head a little, something heavy and unbearably sad flitting through his face before it went neutral again as he looked out the window.  “She deserves better’n me.”

Dean shook his head.  “You, nothing.  It’s the assholes that keep going after you.  Those are the bad guys.  Trust me, no one deserves them.”

A beat.  “You including that little brother of yours in that count?”

Dean clenched his jaw, swallowed.  “No one deserves him, either.”  No woman, no father, no brother to drag him back down.

He focused on the road until Benny stopped studying him in the corner of his eye, then pressed forward.  “I made sure she was okay,” he said, quieter even though there was no one to hide it from.  “Got her patched up, talked her through things.  Put some wards up at the restaurant, made a copy for her to put on her walls at home.  It won’t keep out the human assholes, but should take care of just about anything else that’d want to hurt her.”

A heavy hand dropped one grateful pat on his knee before drawing back, and Dean wished he hadn’t had to say that at all.  That just one time, things could work out for someone good.

“For the rest of it,” he said, exiting off the highway, “you got me.  I’ll figure something out.  Get you set up somewhere.  I know a guy, Garth, pretty damn good at disappearing people.  You’d like him.  Down-home huggy-bear type.  He grows on you.”

“Dean.”

“And if anyone gives you trouble again, you call me, I’m there, got it?  Or, hell, just stick around, man.  Not saying you’ve gotta hop on the Hunter Express or anything, but best way to keep assholes off your tail is to keep moving.  And trust me, I could make a living off keepin’ moving--”

“ _Dean_.”

“What?”

He could feel the meaningful glance without looking.  “Come on, now,” Benny said softly.  “Let’s not jump the gun here.  Not saying it ain’t a nice offer, or I’m not grateful.  But Dean, you can’t be all I got.”  It was earnest and matter-of-fact, which kept Dean’s knee-jerk reaction to it, or at least to what it sounded like ( _I don’t belong to you, Dean, no matter what Dad taught you--_ ), at bay.   “That can’t be how it is.  Ain’t any good for me, ain’t fair to you.”

“It’s not exactly a hardship, man.”

“Dean.  I’m not stupid, and neither are you,” Benny said evenly.  “Something’s going on with your brother.  Ain’t anything you have to talk about with me, but I can’t have you making any big decisions where I’m concerned when you’re still scramblin’ for someone to look after.”

“Whoa,” Dean said, his voice tighter than he wanted it to be, “back up, there, sunshine.  I’m not getting down on one knee over here.”

“Now you’re breakin’ my heart.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Dean snorted, stopping at a red light and leaning back.  “Look, man, I ain’t saying things are great right now, on my end.  But I’m not here to stick a mop on your head and call you little bro, got it?”  Benny’s mouth quirked up, and the light turned green, and Dean stepped on the gas.  “You called, I’m here.  But I get that you need more than one screwed-up hunter in your corner.  I get it.”

_\--no matter what Dad taught you, no matter if you think you’re doing what’s best for me--_

He took a deep breath.  “I get that one guy isn’t enough.  I know I’m not.”   _For anyone._  “But at least ‘til you kick me out, I’m gonna see what I can do about getting you back on your feet.  After that,” he shrugged, turning in to the parking lot, “whatever happens.”

He turned off the car and unbuckled the seatbelt, but Benny didn’t move.  “Brother,” he said quietly, “you know you don’t got to rob a blood bank and shine up a truck you hate for me to be glad you’re here.”

It wasn’t a question, but it was, a little, because he was unreasonably good at telling when Dean’s head started to get weird, and Dean took another breath and worked on pulling himself back to somewhere normal.  “Well, obviously.”  He plastered on a smirk and gestured at himself.  “Couldn’t blame you.”

Benny lifted an eyebrow and shook his head as he undid his seatbelt, but he was grinning.  “Don’t hurt yourself, now.”

-

The fourth time he’d come back, it still hadn’t been his idea.  But apparently it was God’s idea, so...there was that.

He came back, and Sam was different.  Of course he was.  Hell, until he’d seen Bobby, Dean had been worried that the calendar he’d found was forty years old and Sam was, at best, an old geezer liable to drop dead of shock from seeing him, or at worst, long dead with the world gone the way of the zombies.  Luckily, it was neither, but that didn’t mean Sam was the same.  Time had passed.  He’d grieved.  He’d been starting to accept it, maybe.  Get better.  Move forward, without Dean.  Neither of them wanted to start that conversation, so no one ever did.

But Sam had wanted him there.  He had.  Dean wouldn’t have caught him _looking_ at him like that so many times if he’d been wishing Dean had stayed in the ground.  But Dean also couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d interrupted something, thrown a wrench in something.  

They never really got into that conversation, either.

-

It was quick work getting hold of the parts they needed since Dean knew what the hell he was doing, and he put in an order for the couple of things that weren’t in stock so they could come back and pick them up in a couple of days.  Until then, he figured, he could at least get them checked into a decent motel that wasn’t two feet thick with dust, get them each a bed of their own instead of the lumpy old couch and the backseat of the Impala.  On that one, Benny didn’t argue.

The diner was just down the block and around the corner, so Dean left the car parked and they headed over on foot.  It felt...normal.  Really normal, just sticking close and walking without talking, because Dean couldn’t count the hours they had spent doing just that.  The stage had changed - smooth concrete instead of a muddy forest floor, exhaust and frying oil and stale cigarette smoke in the air instead of blood-tang and leviathan goop and his own sweat, no more need to listen for snapping twigs or any of Benny’s warning whistles - but it felt like driving a path he knew.

It pulled him just enough into Purgatory-brain that when Benny briefly paused next to him, then started to whistle, Dean noticed.  It was a casual minor scale, _one-two-three-four-five-three-five_ in a slow, easy slide, and Dean got the message.  

_Fight_ , it said.  

Dean exhaled slowly through his nose, shook out his shoulders, and gripped the blade in his jacket.  “Can’t take you anywhere,” he muttered, and Benny huffed a laugh.

“Ain’t my fault we’re smellin’ some rotten eggs,” he casually replied, and Dean nodded.  Sulfur-smell, then, not close enough for Dean’s nose yet, but on its way.  Demons.  “You up for this?”

“Gonna have to be.  How close?”

Benny inhaled, quiet but obvious.  “Give it thirty seconds.”

“Awesome.”

Between one step and the next, Purgatory settled into his bones.  

“You know,” he said, his stride sinking into the swagger he had lived in down below, when he’d needed to broadcast to everything with eyes that _he was not afraid_ , “I gank this bad boy, that’ll put me a solid ten points ahead of you, man.”

Benny rolled his eyes, but his gait was relaxing right along with Dean’s, because he was feeling it, too.  “Still ain’t keeping score, bud.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re losing big time.”

“Still ain’t cute, either.”

Dean snorted.  “I’m adorable.  New rule,” he went on while Benny grinned and shook his head.  “Every ten points ahead equals food.  Leader’s pick.  Just to get it out of the way, I’ll have that pumpkin-pecan-praline pie you kept braggin’ about down below.  Damn tease.”

“Now, that ain’t even a little fair,” Benny said, inhaling again and holding up a hand in front of his chest, signaling.  Get ready.  Dean nodded, fishing out an anti-possession charm and casually handing it over.  He wasn’t sure if demons could possess non-humans, but better not to find that out the hard way.  “Unless you think you’ve got yourself a new hunting partner here, which I’m really hopin’ you don’t, puts me at a hell of a disadvantage up here on Earth.”

Dean grinned.  “For those points you’re not keeping track of?”

“That pie’s a damn _delicacy_ , brother.  Was a day I could make men _weep_ with that recipe.  Ten points is disrespect.  It’d better be worth fifty, at least,” he said, straight-faced while Dean chuckled.  “Ten could get you a beignet or three, tops.”

“Big talk, man.  But if you’re gonna be a sore loser about it, guess I can settle.”

“Whoa, now, you don’t _settle_ for my beignets.  Keep that up and we’ll have to re-negotiate some terms.”

“What are you, the dessert Godfather?”

“I tell you I finally saw that movie?  Hell of a thing.”

“Damn right, it is.  Glad you took my advice on _something_.”

“Don’t you start on my truck again.  We been down this road.”

Dean held up his hands, and there was the sulfur smell.

Under his jacket sleeves, the hairs on his arms stood up, and Benny’s eyes flashed like a cat’s under the streetlamp as he turned his head to listen.  “By the by,” he said slowly, distracted, “I still ain’t keeping track.”  

He clapped Dean on the arm, _Go_ , and as one they dove in opposite directions.  It took Dean a half-beat longer than Benny to react, but by then there was already a thud and a grunt and Benny’s voice saying _Easy now_ , low and lazy with an edge of ice, and Dean was flashing forward, and his blade was stopping just under their new buddy’s chin.

Dean flashed the demon an unfriendly smile.  “Hi.”

-

Purgatory changed things.

Before Purgatory, he’d come back so many times, but it had always been because of someone else.  Someone had wanted to save him, or someone had wanted to use him.  He had never chosen to come back, no matter how many times he’d chosen to go.

Purgatory changed things, because this time, Dean had _fought._

In Purgatory, staying gone wasn’t an option anymore.  It had been about finding Cas, always finding Cas, and then it had been about getting out.  Getting all of them out.  And it had been about more than just him, because Cas and Benny were guys--creatures-- _people_ who deserved more than they’d been dealt, and if he was in a position to reverse some of the universe’s bullshit, he’d jump on it.  But it had been about himself, too.  For the first time, he’d stood firmly against what was trying to drag him away again and said, _I am going to fucking live._

So that was something, maybe.

He was starting to think that on the nights when he woke up and stared at the ceiling and thought of Purgatory, maybe that weird, empty ache it gave him wasn’t just for how simple it had been, just surviving.  That maybe, instead, it was Purgatory Dean he was missing.  The guy who fought back, because _he was going to live._

Dean wanted to keep that.  He wanted to help Benny find it again.  He wanted to help Cas find it for the first time.  It didn’t matter how fucking sad it was that the big revelation of his thirty-fourth (thirty-fifth? seventy-fifth?) year of life was that he finally _wasn’t_ okay with dying; it was something.

If Purgatory Dean was who he had to be to hold on to that, well, maybe that was something, too.

-

The demon wasn’t difficult.  Benny knew his way around demons, and Dean knew his way around a blade.  It didn’t take much to get Joe Demon to sing.

The demon, of course, was Crowley’s.  Less of a hitman, more of a delivery boy.  Crowley’s order: one Winchester, alive, extra-crispy if that was what it took.  Benny glanced at Dean when the demon spat that out, and Dean carefully didn’t react, even though his mind had already jumped to _Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam--_

He thought of the missed call.

“No way,” he decided, pointing at the demon with the tip of his knife.  “Crowley’s a Grade-A douche, but he’s smarter than this.  What’s the real endgame here?”

The demon rolled his eyes, which was way too sassy a move for the tattooed tough-guy he was wearing, and pointed to himself.  “Pawn.”  Pointed Hellward.  “King.”  Benny snorted, and the demon made a face, but pointedly didn’t struggle against his grip.  “I’ve got one job, and believe me, no one takes the Winchester jobs unless we lost a bet somewhere.”

“You’re makin’ me blush,” Dean deadpanned.

“I don’t know details,” the demon insisted.  “I told you what he told me.  His Majesty is a businessman.  If you and your brother would rather fight it out than talk it out, no one can say he didn’t try to play nice first.”

“Uh-huh.”  Dean flipped the knife in his hand, then flipped it back, watching Joe Demon’s eyes follow the blade.  “Play nice.  So that’s demon-speak for kidnapping a bunch of innocent people, torturing a kid--”

“The prophet--”

“--a _kid_ ,” Dean spoke over him, “and then playing Frankenstein with an angel that didn’t have anything to do with--”

“Hey,” the demon said, holding up his hands, “ _clearly_ the angels are perfectly capable of doing their own lobotomies, all right?  Angels aren’t part of the deal.”

Dean’s brain was going too fast, trying to piece together _doing their own lobotomies_ and Alfie and all the little ways Cas had been off since getting back, and they still didn’t know how--

Shit.  Focus.  Kill demon now, untangle that crap later.

“Yeah, well,” he said, stopping with the knife-flipping to grip the handle and start forward, “maybe you’re new in town, but Crowley’s been around long enough to know where he can stick his ‘deal.’  But hey, thanks for playing.”

There’d been no time to draw a devil’s trap, but Dean was fast enough, and he surged forward with the blade shoving upward before the shock could fully widen the demon’s eyes and mouth--

Benny caught his wrist before he got there.  “ _Dean._ ”

The demon roared out of its vessel’s mouth in a pillar of smoke, making both Dean and Benny flinch and avert their eyes, and vanished into the air.  The vessel staggered back against Benny, gasping, _alive_ , the whites of his eyes stark against his dark skin.  “What--what the--”

Shit.

“Easy,” Benny soothed as he let go of Dean, miles away from the way he’d said it to the demon, but the guy - practically a kid, now that Dean was really looking, tattooed and strong but younger than Sam at least - just pressed back against him, his eyes wide on Dean, like…

Like he was scared.

“Hey, uh,” Dean stammered, then noticed he was still holding the knife and quickly put it away, holding up his empty hands.  “Sorry.  Uh.  Are, are you hurt?”

“You stay the hell away from me,” the guy snapped, though his weak voice and shaky legs put out any fire that would have been in it.  Dean stopped mid-step and complied, his hands dropping to his sides.   _Shit, shit._

“Hey,” Benny said, carefully turning the kid’s shoulders so he’d look at him and not Dean.  “Let’s try first things first, all right?  What’s your name?”

“Monterey.”  The kid swallowed, still shaking all over, just a little.  “Rey.  Just, just Rey.”

“All right, Rey.  I’m Benny, this here’s Dean.  He ain’t gonna hurt you, and neither am I.  Now, what say we get you to a hospital, get you hydrated and patched up, and meantime you can call whoever you need to call, all right?”

By the time they’d gotten Rey taken care of, an hour had passed, and the only words Dean had said had been to the hospital receptionist when he’d taken care of the kid’s expenses with his stolen credit card.  Not surprisingly, the kid was fine with that, sticking close to Benny and aiming his thank-you mostly in his direction.  Dean didn’t blame him.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he left the hospital with Benny and headed back toward the car.  “You’re a natural.”

“Nah,” Benny said, but Dean didn’t miss how he was standing a little taller, looking a little lighter, and had been for a little while now.  “Kid was spooked, he’da clung on to anyone.”

“Sure.”  Dean unlocked the car, too aware of the knife in his jacket and thinking too much about how easy it had gotten to use it.  How automatic.

“Hey,” Benny said while Dean backed out of the parking spot.  “Kid’s alive, we’re alive.  Demon turned tail.  Ain’t a half bad way for it to come out.”  He looked over in the corner of Dean’s eye.  “You did good.”

Dean shook his head, eyes on the road.  “ _You_ did good.  Let’s leave it at that.”

“Let’s not,” Benny said evenly, and Dean rolled his eyes.  “We ain’t been topside all that long, chief.  Purgatory gets in your bloodstream.  Happens to everyone.  It’s not something you just shake off.”

“I was gonna kill him, Benny.   _Bullshit_ it’s because of Purgatory.”  Dean gripped the wheel and felt unreasonably pissed off when they had to stop at a red light, because he wanted to speed.  “This,” he slapped his chest where the knife was resting against it, “isn’t a new thing.  We got one knife that kills demons, and we got it five damn years ago, and we use it.  I use it.  Because it’s quick, it’s easy, and the demons don’t come back.  And the people, they’re just...collateral damage.”  God, there had been so many of them.  He couldn’t remember any of their faces.  The fight flew out of him, and he slumped in the driver’s seat, feeling just as irritated when the light turned green and they had to go, because it suddenly felt like a stupid amount of effort.  “I don’t know when that stopped bothering me.  I don’t...I don’t know what I am, that it stopped in the first place.”

A beat, and Benny replied quietly, forgivingly, “You’re human.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean mumbled.   “Been a lot of things.  Between you and me, sometimes I’m not so sure ‘human’ is the one that stuck.”  

“I haven’t been human in a while,” Benny admitted as Dean pulled into the diner parking lot, and thank God for twenty-four-hour diners, “but as I recall, it’s a lot more human to wonder than it is to know.”

Turning off the car, Dean took a centering breath, trying to bring himself back.  He was okay.  Benny was okay.  The victim was okay.  As of earlier tonight at least, Sam was okay.  He’d screwed up, but he could still take the win.

“Whatever you say, Confucius,” he finally replied, earning a huffed laugh.  “What I do know is I owe you a coffee, and under no circumstances do I want to know how your weird vampire digestive system works.”

Grinning at him over the hood of the car, looking legitimately happy for probably the first time since Dean dug him out of a graveyard, Benny shook his head.  “You don’t owe me nothin’.”

Tired as he felt, Dean couldn’t help but grin back a little.  He nodded toward the door, pulling out his phone.  “Order me one, will you?  Black.  I’m coming in, just need to check on something.”

Knowingly eyeing the phone, Benny gave him a lazy two-finger salute and headed inside, leaving Dean to lean against his car and flip his phone open.

One missed call, last night.  Two texts, one from last night and one from three hours ago.  Shutting off Sam’s voice in his memory, Dean sucked in a breath and listened to the voicemail.  It was easy enough to block out the parts that didn’t matter - Sam had always used more words than he needed to, talked like a college boy instead of a hunter even when he was a kid, even now - and pick out the parts that did.

_Dean._

_Look, I’m sorry--_

_Just tell me you’re okay._

_I’m on the way to meet Amelia.  For the record, I’m not sure what I’m going to tell her yet.  I’m not sure if it’s going to be yes.  I don’t know._

_Just call me._

Considering when Sam had left it, it wasn’t all that surprising, so he moved on to the texts.  He started with the one from last night, which made him want to roll his eyes as much as collapse with relief.

_**Sam:** had something stuck to my shoe, black eyes. Took care of it. Be careful. Still sorry._

Good.  Good, that was...that was good.

The next text was from earlier tonight, and Dean had less of an idea what to do with it.

_**Sam:** FYI, going to Sioux Falls for a while. Figuring things out. If you don’t tell me you’re ok by this time tomorrow, I’m turning around. Warning: will probably blame Benny. Also kinda got a dog. Just get in touch_

There was a little too much what-the-hell in there for Dean to take on all at once, so he sighed and opened up a reply.

_not dead. black eyes ran off. benny saved a kid. staying here for now._

He almost added _from me_ to the third sentence, but left it off.  The he almost changed here to his actual location, but decided not to do that, either.  Sam wanted to be alone - with another damn dog, apparently - so Dean would leave him alone.

Straightening his shoulders, Dean pressed _Send_ and flipped his phone shut.  He tucked it back in his pocket and locked the car, but paused before going inside.  Glanced up at the sky.

“Cas?” he said softly, in case anyone was watching him talk to himself in the middle of a parking lot.  “Hey, uh.  I don’t know if you’ve got your ears on, but in case you do...listen.  I know something weird’s going on with you.  Haven’t figured out what yet, but I think I’m starting to get an idea.  Just...sometime soon here, just let me know you’re okay, will you?  You don’t have to stick around, just.”  He swallowed hard, lowering his eyes and his voice until he could barely hear it himself.  “Just don’t disappear on me again.  Don’t you do that.”

Taking a deep breath, he focused doubly hard on Cas, just Cas, in case he could keep anyone else on Angel Radio from picking up on it.  “And Cas, if someone’s messing with you, if...if someone’s hurting you, you’ve got to tell me, you hear me?  You tell me.  Or if you don’t want it to be me, you tell Sam.  There won’t be anything left when we’re done with them.  Puny mortals or not.  If you can hear me...no one gets to hurt you.  No one.  If you can’t get here, then just remember that.  But if you can...then get here.  It’s where I’ll be.”

In spite of himself, he waited a few more seconds, taking a furtive glance around.  Nothing.

The familiar little curl of anxiety that had kept him killing his way through Purgatory gripped in his chest, and he stubbornly pushed it down.  “He’s okay,” he said firmly to himself.  Pushed off the car.  Nodded a little, in case that would help him believe it.  “He’s okay.”

Pulling himself back to the here and now, Dean headed inside, brushing his fingers over the Impala’s hood in passing, because there was one promise he could make good on, and it was an easy one.  Maybe Sam didn’t need him right now, but it didn’t mean no one did.  And maybe, right now, that could be enough.

The coffee wasn’t half bad.


End file.
